Dangerous Knowledge
by Wendy3
Summary: When Buffy visits the Shadowmen for knowledge of how to vanquish the First, she receives a disturbing vision of a fate she vows to protect Angel from.
1. A Little Knowledge

Chapter One - A Little Knowledge  
  
Buffy Summers, the last guardian of the hellmouth, stood before her creators. The shadowmen had created the slayer. Her answers lay within their midst. "I've come here to learn." Buffy's face was determined, not willing to compromise. However, her words were misleading. She had come to learn, but only what she wanted to hear: how to defeat the First.  
  
"We cannot give you knowledge, only power," the Shadowman answered gravely.  
  
She did not want power, she had it already. But they could give her more - at a price. Buffy came for knowledge and that is what she would leave with. The problem is sometimes a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. And now she knew, she wished she had opted for the power.  
  
***************************  
  
The months leading to the day she and Dawn had found Chloe hanging from the ceiling had been harrowing. As the slayer, Buffy had always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, but never ever had she had to carry the blind terror of her friends, sister and a group of potential slayers too. She was tired, so very tired of being the strong one, of giving her all when despite her best efforts, the First Evil still managed to chip away at them bit by bit. As they weakened, it laughed, it mocked, it rejoiced. And she could take no more. It was time that everyone began to do their part.  
  
Except she knew it did not work that way. She was always expected to face death and never complain. It was who she was. But why should she be using her power to dig the graves of potentials the First had picked off? Why should she have to merrily scatter the dirt upon their lifeless bodies and then return in to hear more of Xander's sarcasm, more of Kennedy's attacks - more and more disparagement. The weight of their dissonance was killing her and their fight. It was time to act.  
  
When she returned inside, spade in hand, the room was quelled with soft sobs and mourning. It stifled her. Then the potentials looked to her, their leader, for comfort, for anything. But Buffy's eyes were cold, hardened by years of losing the ones she loved, knowing crying never brought them back.  
  
"Chloe was stupid." They all gaped at her in shock, in disgust, but she was past caring. They needed to know the truth. There was a war to fight, a ruthless, bloody, epic battle they would not all survive. And whether they liked it or not, they had been picked. This was their battle as much as hers: if they did not fight, they were as good as dead.  
  
As she predicted, Kennedy dissented. Buffy stared her down, no time for games. She needed the potentials to believe, for Dawn, Xander and Giles to understand, for Spike to become less pussy-whipped and for Willow to stop hiding behind her spell books. She needed them all to follow her lead, to give of themselves without constant doubt and question. She needed their faith - but all she received was their unwavering fear. So she snapped. Just a bit more. Her friends were shocked. They were her friends, why could they not be treated as such? Things had always been more democratic, more talkative but the time for that was through. Buffy was the head of an army of teenage girls, flanked by a recently ensouled vampire, a former watcher, her little sister and dearest friends. Thrown in the midst were a former demon frightened for her life and a nerdy evil genius wannabe with a love for sci fi. It was a nomadic band of misfits and children, of uncertainty and self doubt. It scared Buffy that this was all she had.  
  
"Dawn, get the potentials upstairs and break out that emergency box," Buffy ordered.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Dawn asked, slightly stunned at her sister's outburst.  
  
"I'm declaring an emergency," Buffy answered sharply.  
  
Then she walked out, painfully aware of all the eyes in the room on her, glowering in resent. It was always lonely to be the one with power.  
  
*****************  
  
Slightly calmer, Buffy stood as her sister opened the strange looking box in the slayer emergency bag Robin Wood, the principal, had provided her with. The purpose of the cast iron figures that emerged from it were somewhat of a mystery to Buffy, but somehow she knew they were important. This was finally it, the break she had been hoping against hope for. Somehow, they might actually defeat the First. Most amazingly, it might be all because of Dawn's careful research right now.  
  
It had impressed Buffy that Dawn had not reacted petulantly to her earlier rebuke. Instead she had thrown herself into the mission, determined to contribute in the fight against the First. It was most unlike Dawn to let any form of criticism go without a healthy display of adolescent angst or more accurately screaming, but just lately, things had changed. Buffy traced it back to the truce they had come to after Willow had tried to end the world. In response to Buffy's recognition of her burgeoning maturity and need to be involved, Dawn had responded by stepping up to the plate. She was beginning to be selfless, to work without reward or recognition, for the common good. Where those older than her quailed, absorbed with their own troubles and issues, Dawn had focused, prompted and in some cases, even directed, their actions. It was Dawn now who was pulling her weight, putting the others to shame with her explanations, with her knowledge. Buffy had once told Dawn she was going to be powerful; now it seemed that prediction was coming true.  
  
Then everything began to become very surreal. The figures had begun to cast shadows that were telling a story: the story of the first slayer. Men had taken an innocent girl and chained her to the earth, forcing her to become a slayer and kill the demons. The beating drums were becoming louder, the shadows spinning faster and faster, Buffy's mind racing with the revelations.  
  
"It says you can't just watch, you have to see," Dawn told Buffy, clutching the heavy book telling the slayer's story tightly. "But only if you're willing to make the exchange."  
  
And Buffy was. They needed to know; they needed to see. The First was winning, decimating her army piece by piece. There was no time left for deliberation. So without further thought to Willow's worries or Robin Wood's doubts, she stepped into the portal, looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  
  
Except when she arrived, she was back where it all had all begun. Things had come full circle and now the last slayer was to meet the fate of the first. The shadowmen were not interested in her empowerment through knowledge or her battle with the First. They had only one tool - the slayer. Through her, they would protect themselves from demons. They were the creators, they were the controllers. Whoever controlled the knowledge, had the power and theirs lay in the dark magics: in the spirit of the demon that they were attempting to forcefully impose upon her. It had tried to rip Buffy of her free choice, of her quintessential humanity, believing her unable to resist. However they had severely underestimated Buffy Summers.  
  
She was determined to leave this dimension with the knowledge she had come for, to learn of how to conquer the First. So she persisted until it was gained. The elder shadowman had placed his hands firmly on her temples, regarding her with a look tinged with regret. Then she had been gripped with true terror, her worst ever fears confirmed. She had always been sustained by the belief that whatever happened to her, Angel would continue to live, to fight, to be strong. She received the vision of his agonising death, of his body being disintegrated by a shaft of brilliant sunlight. This was the knowledge she had been seeking, this was the truth she had fought so hard to win. Except she could not, would not accept it. It could not be true. How could Angel's death be linked to the vanquishing of the First?  
  
Still reeling from the shock of her discovery, she had slunk into her room. Closing the door firmly behind her, she had crawled beneath her covers, closing herself off from the questions of her friends, from the endless horror of watching her first love die. But it did not go away. Again and again, she saw his face contorted in agony, his eyes hardened with determination not to give in to the pain. It was then that her secret dream of a future with Angel disappeared and she felt the true bleakness of it all descend upon her. If there was no chance for him, no chance for her, why bother? How could she defeat the First when it held such a high price for them both?  
  
Finally Willow had entered the room, her demeanour subdued, her presence emanating the enormity of the war they faced. She looked to Buffy for hope.  
  
"They offered me more power. I should have took it."  
  
"Don't worry. We'll get by. We always do," Will had answered her quietly, her optimistic words belying her growing perturbment.  
  
"They showed me Angel, Will," Buffy had then said suddenly, as Willow's eyes had widened in shock. "They showed me he's key."  
  
Taking a moment to absorb the news, Will regarded her friend carefully. "That's a good thing isn't it? Angel's strong. He could be a great ally in defeating the First," she reasoned.  
  
Buffy shook her head firmly, drawing herself up to a sitting position. "No, he won't be," she responded squarely. "We'll be fighting this war, but not with Angel."  
  
"But they showed he could help. They showed he could help us win," Willow protested, slightly confused. "Why don't you want him to? I'm going to call him right now." Will stood quickly and went to leave the room.  
  
"Because it will kill him," Buffy stated bluntly.  
  
Willow froze. Turning round, she walked slowly to Buffy and sat on the bed beside her. "How?"  
  
"I saw a shaft of light killing him, ripping the life from him," Buffy whispered, her face white. "I saw his pain, I felt it, Willow. I felt the agony of his dying. And I cannot let that happen. He can't know about this."  
  
Wetting her lips nervously, Will watched her friend's pained face as she considered the wretchedness of Buffy's choice. As had so often happened before, Buffy was being forced to decide between saving the world and sacrificing those she loved. Although she in no way wanted Angel's death, Willow knew that they had to bring him here. "Buffy, you know what I'm going to say. We still have to tell Angel."  
  
"No," Buffy answered firmly, the word emphasised by her tightly gripping Willow's arm. "You have to promise you won't tell him, Will. He's not getting involved. This is my war, my rules."  
  
Feeling deeply unhappy, Will gave a small nod. To promise not to tell seemed wrong, but to go against Buffy's wishes was unthinkable. Lost in her thoughts, Willow left the room. It was as if the only way to win was to sacrifice, to lose, to hurt. This past year, Willow had experienced enough of that. Dwelling on her own pain and grief, Willow secured her promise. They would have to find another way.  
  
To be continued. 


	2. Ready or Not

Chapter Two - Ready or Not  
  
It had been here again. Dawn had woken at 1am to the sound of soft muffled weeping emanating from the Summers' bathroom. Knocking lightly on the door, she had received no reply. Thinking of Chloe's lifeless body, she had suddenly panicked and began pounding on the door with all of her might. Then Buffy had appeared, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, her face strangely expressionless. Carefully she had caught hold of Dawn's hand and pushed her back. Then with a powerful kick, the door had flown down, revealing a potential crouched in the corner, visibly trembling, her hands covering her face. Buffy felt the bile rise in her throat.  
  
"The First," she murmured to herself. With Dawn looking on, Buffy had gone to the petrified girl and roughly took hold of her. "We're fighting a war now. You're a part of an army. You are not going to give in to this," Buffy had told her harshly, dragging her to her feet. The girl, whose name Buffy did not know, had stared at her with large blue uncomprehending eyes. "You give in and you're dead," Buffy pressed, now grasping her shoulders tightly. "Do you want to die like Chloe?" Each word was punctuated by a sharp shake of the girl.  
  
"No, no, no, no," the girl had wailed, her face crumbling. "I just want to go home."  
  
Buffy then felt Dawn lightly touch her arm. She turned to see Dawn's warning look. "Please, Buffy," Dawn said quietly.  
  
Turning back to the girl, Buffy slowly released her from her grasp. "I'm sorry. But I won't let you die like that," she told the girl before beginning to walk back to her room. Suddenly it occurred to her that she did not know the girl's name. "Hey, what's your name?"  
  
The girl looked up at her quizzically, not expecting the question. "It's Sophie," she replied softly, twiddling a strand of her dark brown wavy hair.  
  
Buffy gave her a glimmer of a smile, then called to Dawn, "Give Sophie some hot chocolate. It'll help her sleep."  
  
As Buffy closed her bedroom door, she heard them descending the stairs. Then she felt the first tear prick at her eye. She desperately fought back, trying not to think about the stolen future of fifteen year old Sophie, of Chloe's suicide, of Annabelle's murder. But it all became too much and the misery overwhelmed her. And as she cried into her pillow, she saw Angel's face again, the gritted teeth, the pain. It was then she fell into an exhausted sleep.  
  
******************************  
  
She was dreaming again. Her eyes fluttered open and she was sixteen again. As she walked through the alley, she felt someone there, following her. Peering cautiously around, she leapt gracefully into the air, grasped hold of a beam, and pulled herself into a handstand. Then she saw him. He walked almost silently, his eyes sweeping his surroundings as if he had lost something. Suddenly she swooped down, knocking him down, her tiny body astride him, pinning him to the ground. He looked up at her, a smirk playing upon his lips.  
  
"Is there a problem ma'am?"  
  
She glared at him, feeling herself drawn to his gorgeously deep dark brown eyes despite herself. He was infuriating. "Yes, there is," she snapped. "Why are you following me?"  
  
"I know what you're thinking. Don't worry," he drawled. "I don't bite." She continued to stare at him angrily, clutching her stake. "Truth is, I thought you'd be taller, bigger muscles and all," he riled her, grimacing as he rubbed his cricked neck. "You're pretty spry though."  
  
"What do you want?" she demanded, hands on hips.  
  
"To kill them. To kill them all."  
  
She gazed deeply into those eyes, oblivious to the conversation that carried on despite her. It had been so long since she had been able to just bask in his presence. Then she felt the small box pressed into her hand. "You've got to be ready," he warned her, disappearing into the night. Watching him go, she gently opened the box, revealing a silver cross. Suddenly, light exploded out of the cross, throwing the world into a bright white light. Buffy closed her eyes and screamed.  
  
Slowly she opened her eyes, feeling her hand burning. She looked down to see her hand clutching Angel's, a flame kindling where their hands joined. "Angel?" she gasped, gripping his hand tighter. "I love you."  
  
He gazed down at her lovingly, his eyes glinting sadly. "You have to be ready, Buffy, to make the sacrifice."  
  
She threw her arms full around him, not caring about the pain shooting through her body. "No, Angel. There has to be another way," she cried desperately, tears trickling down her face.  
  
A beam of light then ripped through his body, tossing Buffy clear away. "Angel!" she screamed, as the world went dark again.  
  
Then she heard a whisper in her ear. "Are you ready?" Angel asked, his face etched in concern.  
  
She woke up, her heart pounding, her breathing ragged. Scrambling out of bed, she raced to her drawers and began pulling things out frantically, her photos, keepsakes and jewellery scattered randomly on the floor. Then finally she found it. Clutching the small box in her hand, she smiled in relief as she saw the silver cross still nestled within it. Gently she took it out and placed it around her neck. Looking at herself in the mirror, Buffy took in the dark circles under her eyes, the dullness of her hazel eyes and winced. What had happened to her? Lightly fingering the cross, she gazed into her own eyes, hoping to find the answer to Angel's question. Was she ready? She truly had no idea. The First was becoming stronger, tightening its grip on the hellmouth; but Buffy was no quitter. The only thing she knew was that she would not sacrifice another person she loved to the cause, no matter what. It would kill her, at least what was left of her. And Buffy was planning to go out with a bang not a whimper, with Angel, her first love, fully intact.  
  
******************************  
  
The sun shone insistently through the small chinks in Buffy's blinds. Reluctantly opening her eyes, she looked at her alarm clock. It was 7am, only an hour or so before work began. Slowly she moved out of bed, grabbed her robe, and went to the bathroom where she was met by the usual noisy queue of potentials. Looking at the restored door, she realised Xander must have rehung it, and quietly at that. She had not heard a sound.  
  
"Andrew's been in there forever," whined Rona, looking pointedly at Buffy. "What's he doing in there?"  
  
"Let's hope we never find out," Amanda answered, giggling. Rona rolled her eyes at Amanda, setting them both off sniggering again.  
  
"Hey, I can hear you out there," Andrew's voice drifted from the bathroom.  
  
Pushing all the girls aside, Anya barged to the door and flung it open. "What are you doing in there, you little freak?" she demanded, looking disgustedly at the handheld camera that was capturing Andrew's every move.  
  
Andrew looked at her sheepishly, and then exited the bathroom swiftly, bumping into Buffy. "Sorry, Buffy," he offered, aiming the camera at her. "The camera loves you!" he exclaimed excitedly, zooming in closer to the hand that was gently cupping the cross at her neck. "Wow, love the necklace. New look on you."  
  
"Get that thing off me," she muttered, swatting Andrew away from her. "Sorry girls, I'm running late for work," she said, striding into the bathroom to the groans of exasperation from the potentials.  
  
"Typical," Rona ground out, sending daggered eyes towards the closed bathroom door. "She always has to come first."  
  
"That's our Buffy," Anya agreed readily to the surprise of the other potentials.  
  
"It is her house," a quiet voice responded. Rona whirled round to freeze Sophie with her glower, leaving Sophie looking helplessly at the floor.  
  
As Rona went to retaliate, Kennedy appeared out of Willow's room, stretching her arms lazily. Noticing the stand off between Rona and Sophie, Kennedy said firmly, "I don't know what's going on here. I don't care. But it ends right now." Under Kennedy's stern gaze, Sophie nodded but Rona held her glare steady. "Rona," Kennedy prompted pointedly.  
  
"Okay, I'm sorry," Rona huffed. "I was only saying-"  
  
"Nothing," Kennedy finished definitively. "Now you girls go and get some breakfast."  
  
"Work it, work it, work that tension," Andrew babbled, filming the scene. "This is going to look great!" Kennedy frowned, and quickly Andrew turned and pointed the camera towards Anya. "You know this film does need some glamour," he flattered.  
  
"Really?" Anya answered, seductively flicking her hair and pouting at the camera. "Well, I do bring that little something extra."  
  
******************************  
  
She yawned her way through work. Ream after ream of troubled student flooded through her door, and she gave out the usual stock of "sensible yet sensitive" advice. It seemed pointless somehow. The hellmouth bubbling beneath them was threatening to engulf them all through the Seal of Danthalzar - the seal that Andrew had opened. She was just glad that Dawn and Amanda had stayed home.  
  
"Everything's going crazy." Robin Wood's voice startled her from her thoughts. She followed his eyes to the chaos erupting in the halls of Sunnydale High, and looked back at him thoughtfully. "Think it's something to do with being right above the hellmouth?"  
  
"Well the hellmouth does have its semi-annual pergulation. Usually around May," she joked. Then at the look of misgiving on his face, added seriously, "I saw all this kind of stuff when I was here. Vanishing girls, Fish Monsters attacking the Swim team but never all at once."  
  
Robin seemed surprised at her admission. "Something's set it off. Do you think.?" he asked.  
  
"The Seal of Danthalzar," she answered. Then suddenly she knew. Andrew held the key to closing the seal. And the quicker she did it, the better. She could feel the evil snaking up from it, clinging around the school and slowly strangling it: if she waited any longer, the students would all be dead.  
  
******************************  
  
Andrew felt himself growing incredibly tense. He felt the eyes of Buffy, Willow, Anya, Xander, Dawn, Spike, Kennedy and Robin burning into him. He nervously ran his hands through his hair, averting his eyes from the charm Willow held in his face.  
  
Willow gave Andrew an impatient look. "Stop going off topic," she admonished him, holding the charm in front of him determinedly. If they did not access Andrew's memories, they would never find out how to close the seal.  
  
"I wasn't off topic. It's gonna get relevant in a second," he said defensively, gazing into the charm. Then he told them about how the First had visited him in the guise of Warren in Mexico, and taunted him towards opening the seal in Sunnydale. It had guided him towards obtaining the knife, and haunted him until he had used it to gut Jonathan, spilling his blood upon the seal.  
  
"We need to see that knife. There's something there," Willow told Buffy.  
  
"Dawn, search his stuff," Buffy ordered.  
  
Andrew looked at them tiredly and spilled the whole story. He had been keeping the knife in the cutlery drawer. Ignoring their looks of disgust, Buffy took the weapon from Dawn and examined the intricate carving on its handle. Andrew recognised the carving - it was an ancient demon language, somehow connected to the seal. When driven into its victim, the words activated the seal: the blood that spill, I consecrate to the oldest evil.  
  
"Everybody get ready to go," Buffy said.  
  
"Fine, I'll round up the girls," Kennedy responded, pleased to have something to pummel.  
  
"No," Buffy told her. "I just want Spike, Robin and Andrew. Everybody else needs to stay here." Kennedy gave her a dark look, then nodded brusquely. Buffy sensed the resentment building in Kennedy, but had no time for it. This was war, not a contest in ego stroking. "Andrew, hurry up."  
  
******************************  
  
Spike watched Buffy as she gathered the weapons together, his face conflicted. Over the last few days, he had noticed a change in Buffy, and it unsettled him. She was distant somehow and the closeness they had begun to share since he had regained his soul was slipping. Sensing his eyes upon her, Buffy turned to regard Spike. "You ok?" she asked him softly.  
  
"Yeah," he answered distractedly, his eyes focusing on the cross at her neck. "What's with the accessory?"  
  
A look of guilt flashed across her face, and she self-consciously covered it. "Oh, it's nothing," she covered edgily. "Just a little something in case the ubervamps come back out to play."  
  
He gave her a sharp look. "Don't lie to me, Buffy. You're hiding something," he replied bitterly. "I know you and Red are up to something and I want to know what."  
  
Anger sizzling in her, she turned to Spike. "I don't have to tell you anything. There's nothing going on," she snapped.  
  
"Then why are you so angry?" he pressed. "I thought there were no secrets between us."  
  
She caught his unwavering gaze, and looked away. "Spike, I trust you. Just accept that," she answered quietly, her face growing pained. "There are just some things I can't tell you. There are just some things I'm not ready for."  
  
He crossed the distance between them, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You can handle anything."  
  
She gave him a small grateful smile. "Let's go get the bad guys," she quipped half-heartedly, slinging the bag over her shoulder. He followed her quietly, feeling the worry within him. Something was seriously wrong.  
  
******************************  
  
As Buffy watched Andrew's tears splash upon the seal, she felt tears pricking at her own eyes again. It had worked. Willow had reasoned that if Andrew shed true tears of remorse, it would close the seal. This is what it wanted - pain, misery, sacrifice. The purest weapons of the First.  
  
Then again she saw Angel's face, and she closed her eyes to blot out the image. But it would not leave her. She looked down at the deactivated seal and smiled sadly at nothing in particular. I'm sorry, Angel, she murmured in her mind, I'm not ready. Then she heard his voice clearly. "You need to be."  
  
She whipped around, spooked, her eyes fixed on Andrew. "Did you say something?" she demanded.  
  
Andrew shook his head brokenly, his eyes still full of tears. "No, Buffy. I didn't say anything, I swear."  
  
She helped him to stand. "It's okay. You did good," she told him gently. As they walked out, Angel's words haunted her. What if she was never ready? What if she could never beat the First?  
  
To Be Continued. 


	3. Elsewhere To Be

Chapter Three - Elsewhere To Be  
  
In LA, Faith lay comatose, her mind elsewhere. Connor wandered whether she would ever wake up. With her slight body, bruised and battered from her fight with Angelus, she looked so very fragile. It was hard to believe this woman was a slayer, that she had the power to obliterate demons and vampires. But she did. He had seen it with his own two eyes. Now thanks to his "father", she was probably going to die.  
  
He gently touched the dressing on her neck. What had it felt like to be bitten? He felt the anger building in him as he thought of Angelus's teeth sinking into Faith's soft, supple neck. He reached into his jacket to paw the stake hidden within. As his fingers ran against the grainy wood, he felt a sort of peace. What if right now he could lift the stake and plunge it into Angelus's chest? He could just visualise the moment of impact, the perfect clarity as the undead flesh turned to dust, echoing out from its former body. Then it would be over. All the pain and rage he felt would be vanquished in that one act. His "father" would release him by his death, just as had his mother's at his birth. His life would come full circle.  
  
Just then Lorne entered the room. Connor felt his fingers slip from the stake, his eyes looking quickly away from Faith. Lorne, unnoticed by Connor, smiled at the barely concealed play of emotions upon the boy's face, and sat beside Faith. His hand cupped her inert one, stroking it tenderly. She had been very, very brave, risking her life to save Angel's soul. It was not right she should die alone.  
  
"Will she wake up?" Connor finally uttered, his blue eyes gazing soulfully at Lorne.  
  
"We don't know," said Lorne, looking at Faith sadly. The mystical drug she had injected, Orpheus, was powerful beyond anything man alone could synthesise. He wasn't sure anyone, even a slayer, could come back from the dose she had taken. She was going to hell.  
  
With one last look at Faith, Connor left the room. There was nothing to be done here, nothing at all.  
  
*********************  
  
In the darkened kitchen, Willow sat next to Buffy. The potentials were training with Kennedy in the basement, working out some of their tension, Willow surmised. It had been difficult not to notice Kennedy's resentment of Buffy, but what worried Willow was that she could see it spreading. From Kennedy's open dissent came ripples of dissatisfaction among the younger, more reticent girls. They were beginning to doubt, beginning to question, and beginning to wonder why they were even trying to beat the First. Worse still was Buffy's reaction to it. She had so far managed to sidestep all issues of dissonance within the group by aggressively asserting her leadership; which was fine, for now. But Willow could see the cracks, could feel the splitting in the group and she desperately wanted to warn Buffy but somehow she did not feel it was her place. Buffy was right: she did deserve respect. It was Buffy who had led them through countless crises and they had always come out on top. More than that, Buffy was her best friend and had been with her through the best and darkest times of her life: her loyalty to Buffy was truly unquestionable.  
  
"Peace at last," Buffy said, her voice sounding tired.  
  
Willow looked around the sudden space in the house. "It is a miracle," she agreed, trying for pep but failing miserably. "Kennedy felt the girls needed some training. They've been getting a little restless."  
  
Buffy looked outside, thinking of Chloe, Annabelle and Sophie. "I noticed," she answered, her tone depressed.  
  
Willow glanced at her friend, and the sadness in her eyes shook Willow. This was the core of their battle: the loss. Nothing they had ever been through before had placed Buffy so firmly on her own. She was isolated and expected to cope alone just because some mystical heritage had decided she was the slayer: it hardly seemed fair. "I know," Willow said quietly, her hand gently resting upon Buffy's arm. "But you need to know that you don't have to feel all alone. You can talk to me."  
  
Buffy's face registered surprise, but then returned to resignation. "I am talking to you," she replied. "You're the only one I've told about - y'know." The small grimace on her face as she alluded to Angel was not lost on Willow.  
  
"You may have told me, but you're not letting me share the burden," Willow insisted, her eyes pleading with Buffy. "I wish you would let me in."  
  
Sighing heavily, Buffy stood and placed her hands upon the kitchen counter. "It's not something I can share, Will. It's not like you're in love with him."  
  
Standing beside her friend, Willow refused to give up. "Okay, you got me there. Woohoo, gay," Will said, attempting a smile. "But you could tell me what's going on with you. You've been freaked since Andrew closed the seal, but you insist you're fine."  
  
Buffy gave her friend a look, and gripped the counter as if her life depended upon it. "I've been having dreams, and they're so vivid. Full on surround sound, I'm right there, living it, feeling it, as he dies," she told Willow. "And they're getting more intense."  
  
"Not exactly helping with the sleeping," Willow murmured, not wanting to imagine the horror of Buffy's dreams. She caught the tension in Buffy's face and knew there was more. "Something happened when Andrew closed the seal."  
  
Buffy nodded, not wanting to answer but Will was insistent. "I heard his voice. Clear as yours."  
  
Willow felt her insides tighten. This was becoming more frightening by the moment. "What did you hear?" Will prodded, trying to be as gentle with her friend as she could.  
  
"It was a warning. He said I had to be ready," Buffy revealed.  
  
Confused, Willow asked, "Ready for what, Buffy? I don't understand."  
  
"To make the sacrifice. That's what he said in the dream," Buffy replied, her mind reliving the desperate look in his eyes as he had spoken to her.  
  
"You don't know it was him," Willow said suddenly, causing Buffy to gape at her in shock.  
  
"What?" Buffy ground out, unable to process the possibility.  
  
"Come on, Buffy. We're dealing with the First here, the big bad who can mimic any person who's dead, who draws its strength from picking on our weaknesses. It's no secret that Angel is yours," Will pressed somewhat strongly. She then saw Buffy's pale face and softened. "We have to at least consider that the First is trying to manipulate you."  
  
Sitting down again, Buffy clasped her hands, breathing deeply. "I wish it were the First, Will. But I'm so sure it's not. It's him. I feel it, deep inside; I can't explain it," she said, her words a whisper.  
  
"You don't have to Buffy," Willow reassured her. "But we just have to remember who we're dealing with."  
  
Just then Xander appeared. "Who the what we're dealing with?" he asked, a slight hint of humour still present in his voice.  
  
"The First," Buffy answered quickly, subtly flashing Willow a warning look. "Who else?"  
  
Xander saw the uneasiness between Buffy and Willow, but said nothing. "Oh, I always knew the big evil had to be an attention seeker," he quipped. He sat down beside his two friends, and tried to think back to a time when they had shared everything. Right now it seemed a lifetime ago. Their friendship now was marked by secrets and half-truths, the realities of adulthood. He would have given anything right then to return to that simpler time, to the time when his friends thrived upon his voracious need to know. Instead he would bide his time, knowing Buffy would tell him eventually. She always did.  
  
*********************  
  
Faith opened her eyes and stared at her surroundings in total disbelief. This was so not LA, at least not LA in 2003. She turned quickly, trying to look for a way out and came face to face with a large glowering man. She smiled quirkily up at him. "Angelus."  
  
Curling his lips disdainfully, Angelus suddenly rushed at her, but instead of toppling her, he passed straight through her, sprawling messily onto the ground. "What the -?" he exclaimed, staring in horror as he watched an unkempt version of himself lumber through the grimy docklands of the New York of 1902. "This is not happening." "Guess again," Faith leered, her face covered in a huge smirk. "Look's like it's 'Angelus, this is your life' - because Lack-of-Hygiene world? It sure ain't mine." Her eyes settled on the retreating back of Angel, as filthy and dishevelled, he disappeared into the distance. "Seriously, man. Did you forget the invention of a bath?"  
  
Ignoring her, Angelus seethed as he remembered the indignities of watching Angel feed on rats. "This is his life. Not mine. It was bad enough the first time."  
  
Faith smiled slightly in realisation. "This is Angel's life."  
  
"Yeah, and it annoyed the crap out of me first time. So why do I have to share this torture run with you?" Angelus demanded, his face agitated.  
  
"I'm dying, dumbass," she cussed, her face totally unaffected by her comment.  
  
Letting out a chuckle, Angelus fairly gleamed at her. "Not soon enough."  
  
"Whatever," she shrugged. "I'll be dead. But I'm sticking around until they've shoved a soul up your-"  
  
"Never gonna happen," he replied sweetly, giving her the finger. He had friends in high places, and he was pretty sure that the Beast's Master would not let him be re-ensouled anytime soon.  
  
Not bothering to reply, Faith just folded her arms, her cocky demeanour more than a match for his. This was going to be a blast.  
  
*********************  
  
Buffy watched impassively as they chained Spike to the wall. She wished somebody would remind her again why they were doing this. Ever since Giles had discovered that Spike's chip had been permanently deactivated, he had been in a state of pure disapproval. She vaguely remembered his words, his warnings, somewhat laughable in the current situation. He had told her that she deserved better than Spike, that she was letting her feelings for him colour her judgement. Then he had put the final nail in the coffin and mentioned Angel: and that was when she reacted. To say Giles had been taken aback was an understatement. She had literally rocked the poor man's foundations. Since then, they had barely spoken and from the cool look he was giving her now, she did not see that changing anytime soon.  
  
Ignoring him, Buffy went to Spike and tested the chains. He glanced at her, giving her an impish grin. "You don't have to do this," she reminded him gently.  
  
"I think we both know I do. I'm walking around like a ticking time bomb that the First can activate any moment. I'm not being anyone's bitch," he said determinedly, his eyes locked in anger with Robin's.  
  
"Except perhaps for Buffy's," Giles commented dryly, his steely blue eyes glaring unflinchingly at both Buffy and Spike.  
  
"Okay kiddies, I think it's time we got this show on the road," declared Xander, setting himself up as the peacemaker.  
  
Willow stepped forward and began to cast her spell, the confidence surging from her. The crystal she was holding dissolved into a glistening black leech, slivering its way with intent towards Spike. Spike's eyes widened in slight fear as he saw it upon his face, sliding towards his eye socket. Then he felt sharp pain as the thing drove up, beginning to penetrate his brain. He struggled in his chains, desperately trying to shirk the thing off him. But it was too late. The thing was in. Spike's body went slack, his eyes staring glassily forward.  
  
Buffy rushed towards him, her eyes full of fear. "Spike, Spike!" she cried, shaking him savagely. "What did you do to him, Willow?"  
  
Not understanding her friend's outburst, Willow took a tentative step forward. "What we needed to Buffy. Spike was right. We need to know the key to The First's trigger so we can stop it," she said firmly. "We don't know what the First has planned for Spike and if we don't remove this trigger, we soon will. He's already killed people because of this, Buffy. We can't let him us kill us too."  
  
Seeing the sense in Willow's words, she reluctantly let go. "Well, he better be alright. I need him in one piece," Buffy said. Then catching Giles's sharp look, added, "We all do."  
  
Suddenly Spike began to murmur, and Buffy stepped away from him in shock. "What's happening?" she asked Willow.  
  
"He's remembering," she answered simply.  
  
Just then the volume of Spike's voice began to increase. He was arguing with someone. His body began thrashing, causing the chains to clatter violently. Dawn shrank back, her eyes full of fear. Then with a massive roar, Spike broke loose, his game face contorted and snarling in rage. As Buffy rushed towards him, his hands reached for his cot and threw it towards Dawn, gashing her on the forehead. Buffy hauled him down, panting heavily, her face expressionless. Willow crouched down beside Dawn, helping her to sit.  
  
Then again, Spike's body spasmed as the leech slivered from his eye, landing on the floor with a loud plop as it returned to stone. "What's going on?" he rasped, his eyes gazing up at Buffy disorientated. Seeing the coldness in her eyes, he turned to see Dawn being tended to by Willow, a trickle of blood running down her face. His face contorted in guilt. "Oh, Dawn."  
  
Coming up to him and putting a heavy hand on the collar of Spike's leather duster, Robin glared. "Why don't you tell us what you remember?"  
  
Spike angrily shrugged him off, and stood slowly. "Nothing," he lied, resisting the painful memories of his mother.  
  
"What was the song?" Giles pressed, his words as cutting as ice.  
  
Decidedly uncomfortable, Spike looked away, his eyes again settling on the injured Dawn. "It was "Early One Morning". An old folk ditty," he said quietly, his eyes connecting with Buffy's. "My mother used to sing it to me when I was a baby."  
  
"So what was the meaning?" Giles demanded, his temper beginning to flare.  
  
"I don't bloody know," shouted Spike, his hands covering his face. "She was a nice lady, I loved her."  
  
Then he felt Buffy's hand brush his face. "Please, Spike," she begged him. "We need to know."  
  
Seeing the wretchedness in her eyes, Spike thought back to their earlier conversation. Something was burdening Buffy and he did not want to add to that. "I turned her," he grated out. "I turned her, and lost her. My mother never loved me."  
  
Just then, Andrew came down the stairs, slightly out of breath. Buffy scowled at him, upset he had interrupted at such a sensitive moment. "What do you want, Andrew?" she berated him.  
  
Andrew looked slightly sheepish and then turned to Willow. "There's someone called Fred on the phone for you," he told her, then dropping his voice a notch added, "Sounded kind of effeminate." Giving him a strange look, Willow finishing applying the gauze to Dawn's head and then followed Andrew.  
  
"I'm sorry about that," Buffy told him softly, taking his hand. "I know this is hard but you need to finish this."  
  
Dramatically Spike snatched his hand from hers, and gave her a seering look. "That is it. I've told you everything. Why can't you just accept that." Buffy flinched at his words, knowing they were a not so hidden reference to what she had said to him, the meaning being explicit. Why should she expect full honesty from him when she would not give him the same in return?  
  
Slowly she stood from him, allowing him space. Giles gaped at her in comtempt. "What are you doing?" he asked her.  
  
"Letting him go," she countered simply.  
  
"He's still a threat, Buffy. We don't know that the trigger's been deactivated," Giles spat at her.  
  
Robin stared at Spike, a slight air of menace in his expression. "Is that right?"  
  
Before Spike could respond, Willow ran down the stairs, her face strained. "I've got to go to LA, Buffy," she said to Buffy, whose expression was turning to panic. "Something's come up."  
  
Leaving Spike, Buffy went to Willow and pulled her aside. "What's going on, Will? I need to know," she asked, her fingers digging into Willow's arm. "Is it Angel?"  
  
Will looked at her friend closely, and then hugged her. "There isn't time, Buff. I need to go now," she insisted, not wanting to reveal Angel's desouled state to her friend.  
  
"Please don't let anything happen to him," Buffy begged her friend, reluctantly letting her go. "I couldn't bear it."  
  
Giving her friend a weakened smile, Willow ran back up the stairs preparing to go to LA. With Angel soulless, there was no way he could help them. For a second, the idea that this could all be part of the First's plan crossed her mind but she quickly dismissed it. Whether it was or was not, Willow had no time to wait. She needed to find Angel's soul and replace it quickly, before things became any more complicated.  
  
*********************  
  
It was amazing how much fun seeing the most psychotic vampire on this planet relive his alterego's kindest deeds could be. Faith grinned mercilessly as she watched Angelus cringe as Angel rescued a puppy from the path of a speeding car in 1920s Chicago. It was almost too easy to rile this vampire; she wished she had known his weakness much, much earlier.  
  
"This is hell," Angelus whined, visibly sickened.  
  
"Dude, you rescued a puppy," Faith jibed, laying on her tone of disparagement extra thick.  
  
"Don't remind me," he groaned, hiding his head in his arms. "I can't believe how lame he is."  
  
"You are," she reminded him pointedly. "Don't forget you're in there too." Angelus glared at her, and began to stalk away. "Don't get all huffy on me, baby. We haven't finished the ride together yet."  
  
"Oh, why couldn't it have been the other slayer," he muttered to himself angrily. Faith gave him a look, and he finished, "Not that it hasn't been fun and all, draining your blood."  
  
"I still kicked your ass," she retaliated, clearly irked. He merely raised his eyebrow at her, infuriating her further. Reigning in her anger, she breathed deeply. "Whatever."  
  
Then the scene changed again, throwing them both into a blinding white light. Faith squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain her equilibrium but the ground beneath her feet shook violently, throwing her to the floor. In the distance she could hear voices, arguing against one another. She looked up, her face visibly shocked. Before her Faith could see Angel slowly disintegrating as sunlight crackled from his body, Buffy's face stained with tears. But Faith could not move; she was rooted to the spot. She could only cry out helplessly, "Angel."  
  
Behind her came a full and hearty cackle, and Faith saw Angelus looming above her, his face lit up with glee. "Guess this is your hell."  
  
Back in the Hyperion, Lorne's face grew worried as Faith's body began twitch relentlessly, and he heard her cry out in pain. He gripped her hand tightly and began to sing to her softly.  
  
Wesley peered in through the door, watching Faith's thrashing body with saddened eyes. "We're losing her," he murmured, shutting the door behind him.  
  
As he walked away, he did not notice Connor behind him, did not notice the ferocity with which he gripped the stake. Angelus would pay for this, Connor vowed.  
  
To Be Continued. 


	4. Lost Then Found

Chapter Four - Lost Then Found  
  
The pain was seering. Faith felt herself plummeting down, her arms flailing uselessly, as the wind rushed harshly past her face. Though her eyes were jammed shut, Faith could see bright flashes of colour slamming into her vision. She vaguely thought about screaming but the sound never came. This was it; she was finally going to die. A one way ticket to hell for this slayer.  
  
She felt no fear, just a strangely calm kind of peace. If she went to hell, that was it. It would all be over. No more pain, no more anguish over wrongs she could never ever right, no more reliving every single drop of blood that had been spilt by her hand. It would be a simple way to live. She could just let go, give in, give up to the pain and let them punish her until she forgot who she was. Faith could finally stop searching for faith. There would be no need for her to believe in herself when there was no reason left to fight. If Angel was dead, there was no one left who believed in her anyway.  
  
Then she remembered. Angel was going to die. How could she just give up and let him die? Faith felt a fire in herself that she had long tried to quell, building, pushing, clawing its way to the surface. Her head snapped back in anger, her face hardened, and it erupted from her mouth in a snarling, vicious howl. She landed square on her feet, her body flying into attack mode as she felt herself rushed by black cloaked, eyeless men. The dull crack of bone and teeth resounded through Faith as her limbs smashed through her attackers. She had no weapons, no friends, just the strength and power of her own body. Her movements were raw, savage and lethal. She needed nothing except the fight.  
  
Suddenly she stopped. Her limbs were but thrashing through the air. She looked up and saw a young girl in front of her, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Her hair was dyed luminescent red, her clothes tight fitting and slightly gothic, her eyes empty looking. Without needing to ask, Faith knew what she was. This was a potential slayer, a girl like her whom fate had decreed could become a slayer one day. Except that day would never come for this girl. She was already dead.  
  
Then she saw more of them, hundreds and hundreds of young girls gathered before her, all with same haunted look. One by one, her mind was filled with the images of their violent deaths, of their screams and abject fear. Every time it was the glint of a knife, the swift, unfailing jab and the mindless obedience of the eyeless men. Faith felt her stomach curdle, as she fell to her knees, sweat dripping from her body. Refusing to look up, she trained her eyes to the ground, digging her fingers into the hard, stony crevices. "What do you want from me?" Faith cried out.  
  
The red headed girl stepped forward and held her hand out to Faith. Cautiously Faith looked up, her eyes searching the girl for any signs of malice. There was nothing there. This girl was but a shell, a body drained of its soul's vigour and drive. Faith firmly took her hand, allowing herself to be pulled up. "You've now been shown," the girl told her. "There is no other purpose."  
  
Giving her a strange look, Faith slowly withdrew her hand. "What is this?" she demanded, her voice low.  
  
Then she heard footsteps behind her, and a familiar, sarcastic drawl. "Still not getting it yet, are we Faithy? I guess you always were the slower of the two slayers," Angelus taunted. "Well, I'm biased. I always did prefer blondes."  
  
Not allowing herself to react to his riling, Faith merely smiled at him sweetly. "No, I don't think you're getting it. This may be my hell, but if Angel dies, so do you," she reminded him.  
  
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Angelus sat down and admired the pleasing view of the terrified expressions of the murdered potentials. "Well, there are worse ways to go. I always love it when his soul suffers. Gives me a happy," he quipped.  
  
"Which is why you should stay away from a certain blonde," Faith shot back, her eyes narrowed.  
  
Feigning hurt, Angelus clutched at his chest and deadpanned, "Be still my unbeating heart! Oh wait, it already is." Angelus gave her a pitying look. "Stake me already."  
  
Coming forward, her eyes blazing, she ground out, "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. Now we're getting out of this. Both of us. Angel is not going to die."  
  
In the hotel room, Lorne still sat by Faith's side. As Lorne sang, he noticed the spasms through Faith's body slow, her face relaxing into peace. He clutched her hand tighter, fearing the end was near. "I'll stay with you, sweetie, I promise," he whispered to her.  
  
Faith's breathing slowed, but did not stop. Lorne held his fingers over her pulse, and felt its steady, persistent thud. Although still unconscious, Faith was still alive. But when or if she would awaken, Lorne did not know. Whatever, he would not leave.  
  
************************  
  
Connor watched Angelus, unconscious within the cage. This monster here, this evil, soulless demon, this was his true father. Holtz had taught him that. His one constant during those harsh years coming of age in Quortoth had been his father's evil and the hate he had been conditioned to feel for him. And in that hate, Connor had been truly liberated. He, the human child of two vampires, deserved no love, no comfort. All he needed was himself and his vendetta. Before this night was out, he would avenge his birth. He would see his vampire father turn to dust.  
  
As he gazed at that sleeping face, its mouth curled lazily into a sardonic smile, a memory pricked its way through Connor's conscience. It was the night he had discovered Holtz's death, and believing it was at Angel's hands, he had locked Angel in a glass coffin and cast him to the bottom of the Pacific. As he had bound Angel up, Angel had looked up at him, repeating over and over, "I love you, Connor". Those words had meant nothing to him then, he was so full of rage. He did not believe in love. Then he had had the dreams. Night after night he would wake up in a cold sweat, clutching his neck raggedly as he dreamed Angel had broke through his coffin and sank his fangs into his flesh. He vaguely knew it had been guilt, as he knew it now, but dismissed it quickly. He was a warrior; there was no room for doubt. Still his grip on the stake was slipping, as was his conviction.  
  
He thought back to his earlier conversation with Cordelia. She had held his hand tightly in hers, and placed his other on her slightly protruding stomach. Then he had felt it. The unborn child was kicking, desperate to be born into the world. He had smiled so brilliantly and vowed to protect Cordelia and their child, to be a better father than ever Angel had been to him. He had then looked to her, wanting affirmation and love. Instead he had seen anger. In a rage, she had demanded that he had to prove it. Angelus was a threat to her and their baby. Driven by resentment, jealousy and years of hate, Connor was now here, about to kill his father.  
  
Then he heard a noise behind him. Hiding the stake quickly, he turned round to see Wesley gazing him at evenly. "Connor, you're needed upstairs," were Wesley's only words.  
  
Wesley waited patiently as Connor slowly walked past him to the stairs. He had seen the stake in Connor's hands, he well knew his intent. But Wesley understood the pull of darkness and was not one to lecture - not now. Moving closer to the cage, Wesley considered the differences between the souled and the soulless, between himself and Angelus. What it all came down to was choice. Yes, Wesley had darkness within him, but he also had a soul. He knew that his actions over the past months had been wrong but he was not about to bow down and beg for forgiveness. What was done was done. He was sorry if he had caused any pain to those he cared for but they had hurt him too. There was blame on both sides.  
  
Angelus was spasming now, his eyes flickering open and shut. Wesley saw his mouth form words to which no sound came. Then it came, like gravel scratching the back of his throat. At first Wesley couldn't hear it, but the words became increasingly clear. "Die. You're all going to die. From beneath it devours." Wesley froze, instantly recognising Angelus's reference. It was the First Evil.  
  
************************  
  
Perched on her bed, Cordelia stared, white eyed, into the crystal ball balancing in her hand. As it glowed, she began to chant softly, stoking the glow to a brilliant azure. "Angelus, hear my words. You are to awaken, you are to break free. I command you," she intoned grandly. Then her words turned more sinister. "You're all going to die. From beneath it devours."  
  
She paused, waiting for Angelus to respond. She felt nothing. Slamming the ball down, she glared petulantly, her eyes reverting to their normal dark colour. "Or you can just sit on your ass and do nothing. Whatever," she snapped. This mind share with Faith had not been a part of her plan - but it would do.  
  
************************  
  
Flinging off his leather duster, Spike lay flat on his bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Right now, he was fighting to contain the anger within. It had taken all his self-control to walk away from Wood, to only batter him but leave him breathing. That wanker had tried to kill him, using that little folk ditty Spike's mother used to sing, as a trigger for his demon. All this because the soulless Spike had murdered Wood's mother. For goodness sake, the woman had been a slayer. A vampire killing a slayer was pretty much business as usual as far as he was concerned. He would make no apologies for that. It really wasn't hard to see what Wood's real problem had been: his mother had never truly loved him the way a mother should. She had always put the slayer mission before her son. Wood was just looking for someone to blame and Spike, her killer, had been convenient. Still Wood had done Spike a backhanded favour: he had freed him from the First's control. He was no longer consumed by guilt over his mother's turning, no longer believing his mother had never loved him. The truth was she always had, unconditionally. Thus the trigger song had lost its power.  
  
He sensed the slayer's presence and without looking up, motioned for Buffy to sit down.  
  
"Thanks," she murmured, straightening out her clothes as she sat. Gazing at his prone form, tightened with anger, she felt a need to explain Robin's actions. "I'm sorry about Wood. I told him the mission comes first. That if he pulls that stunt again, you'll kill him. I said I'd let you."  
  
Spike glanced up at Buffy, his blue eyes filled with an angry sarcasm. "Oh, how kind of you," he retorted. "So the mission comes first now, eh? If so, what's with you and Red and your secret talks? What's with the endless mooning over Nancy Boy? That's got nothing to do with the mission."  
  
Turning quickly to hide her hurt, Buffy stared fixedly at the wall. "The mission does come first. It has to," she asserted softly.  
  
Taking hold of her shoulders, Spike turned her around and forced her to look at him. "Who are you trying to convince, Buffy? Yourself or the nibblets upstairs," he demanded forcefully, as she tried to shrink from his piercing stare. "I know there's something going on with Angel. I think I've known all along. And it's all you bloody think about - I can see it in your eyes. At least be honest with me. You owe me that much."  
  
Freeing herself, Buffy stood and smoothed down her hair, keeping her face neutral. "We've got a war to fight, Spike, and those 'nibblets' as you call them are a part of it. We haven't got time for petty jealousy and confessions. I need you focused," she hedged.  
  
Shaking his head sadly, he gave her a final searching look. "It's never over with you two, is it?" he asked her. Without answering, Buffy began to walk away, her emotions kept firmly inside. Spike called out after her, "You know I'll fight by your side 'til the end in this. I believe in you. I believe in this mission."  
  
Gently touching the cross at her throat, Buffy looked back at Spike, a small smile upon her lips. "I know. I count on it," she told him.  
  
As she climbed the stairs, the cross still in her hand, she felt small comfort in Spike's overwhelming declaration of support. Even though he hated Angel with a ferocity she would never truly understand, he would still be by her side. As her fingers ran over the cool silver of the cross over and over again, her fears for Angel grew more grave. Inside she knew something was wrong, the same way she had felt it after his desouling all those years ago. She longed for the safety of his arms right now, but the cross was all she had. She clutched it tighter.  
  
***************************  
  
They were all arguing again. Wesley felt the anger rise in him but tried to subdue it. He knew Angelus was a danger; he had known it better than any of them. But it was a risk he had taken when he had asked Angel to lose his soul, a risk he felt they had had to take in order to defeat the Beast. And they had. The sun was back, the endless vampire and demon frenzy defused but it had all come at a cost. Faith was lying in a coma, probably nearing her death; Angel's soul had been stolen, imprisoned and unreachable in the muo-ping. For all that Wesley was sorry, but every gambling man knows how to play the odds, knows that for every lucky break there comes the loss. Angel and Faith had both known the risks; he had no guilt to feel.  
  
Connor was arguing for Angelus's immediate execution. In light of Connor's earlier actions, Wes was not entirely surprised. Still there was something slightly off with Connor's motives, something in his eyes that Wesley could not quite trust. This boy was more than a threat to Angelus, he was a threat to them all. He needed to be watched closely.  
  
"There's no way Angel's coming back. No jar, no soul, no Angel! All that's left is Angelus and we need to put him down," declared Connor passionately, his eyes glinting in frustration that nobody would listen.  
  
"I don't think so," answered a female voice. "I think you need a witch."  
  
Wesley, Fred, Connor and Gunn's eyes stared in surprise at the small red head whom had just entered the Hyperion, a quirky smile upon her face. "Willow," Wesley uttered, going forward to shake her hand firmly.  
  
Connor glanced at Willow sceptically, unsure of what to make of this new arrival. "You're a witch?" he questioned, his voice a sneer.  
  
Willow merely smiled. "Yeah, and you must be Angel's handsome yet androgynous son," she quipped lightly as Connor scowled at her. "Who would know? The sneer's genetic."  
  
"So why are you here?" asked Wesley, still taken aback by the redhead's timely arrival. "Was it the call of dark magicks.?"  
  
"More like the call of Fred," she replied, going over to give Fred a friendly hug. "She said that Angel was all lost his soul, so she figured I might be able to help."  
  
Suddenly it was all beginning to fall into place for Wesley. Of course, Willow was the only living person to ever re-ensoul Angel. It made perfect sense that Fred should call her. He could see it all now: there would be an end in sight. They would finish what Faith had started. They would give Angel back his soul.  
  
***************************  
  
The inspiration had finally hit. Willow felt joyous, rapturous and most of all, ready to re-ensoul Angel. It had all been down to Cordelia, probably one throw-away comment that had elucidated the answer clearly. They did not need to locate the muo-ping that held Angel's soul, they just needed to free it using Delothrian's arrow. Then of course, Willow was free to channel it back into Angel, thankfully way away from Angelus.  
  
She looked around the lobby carefully, checking everything was in place. As Fred passed her, ringing two silver bells, Willow gently lifted her chin, correcting her posture. Then Willow began the spell. Chanting softly, her face serene, Willow focused on connecting her energies to the spirit world. Reaching out, she visualised the arrow in her mind's eye, saw it darting towards the muo-ping. Then suddenly Willow felt her body flung across the lobby, a bellowing voice filling her mind, ordering her to stop.  
  
"There's someone in my head!" she said to Wesley as he helped her up, her voice panicked.  
  
"The Beast's Master," explained Wesley, looking at Willow in concern. "He communicated with Angelus the same way."  
  
"He's extremely powerful. He's trying to stop us from getting the soul," added Fred quietly.  
  
Snapping her head up, her eyes turning an inky black, Willow engaged her powers. A crackle of blue energy flew from her hand, causing an ominous rumble to rock the hotel. Just as quickly, a flash of red smashed Willow point blank in the stomach, causing her to grimace in pain. But she was determined. She would not give up. Angel would regain his soul. Sending another crackle out, Willow felt the power of the Beast's Master ebb. Quickly she chanted the incantation, watching in slight wonder as the small marble began to float in the air. Then she sensed it. An evil was creeping towards them, its claws digging into the recesses of her mind. She felt her own darkness rise, baiting towards the Beast Master but she slammed it down, knowing it was a trick. She had to stay strong, to stay focused.  
  
"Ignore it," she ordered sharply to Connor, Wesley and Fred as they gaped at the demonic visage hovering above them. Then she gave one last determined push, her everything behind her words. "Find your target, leave my side!"  
  
The marble shot from Willow's hand, finding its way to the muo-ping. Willow saw it in her mind, felt the arrow hovering before it. "Go!" she screamed, pushing back against the Beast Master's power. Then it smashed. Willow buckled as she felt the soul release. She looked up at the others, a small exhausted smile upon her face. "It's done," she told them. "Angel's soul is free."  
  
"Time for some sweet re-ensouling," babbled Fred, clearly happy.  
  
Nodding heartily, thinking of Buffy back in Sunnydale, Willow readily agreed. "I think so."  
  
***************************  
  
Faith was back in an alley. Great surroundings, she thought to herself, decidedly unimpressed. As much as she admired Angel, his life history sucked. It was too full of bad smells and manky rats for her taste. "I've got to say, whatever you do, baby, we always end up back in the alley," she mocked Angelus.  
  
Angelus rolled his eyes as he watched Angel crouching in a dark corner, his fangs buried in a rat. "So, why are you here? Big revelation for you, maybe, but I already saw this crap," he sniped.  
  
Then he felt a fist connect with his jaw, sending him spinning to the floor. Angelus glared up, his face frozen in shock as he saw Angel glowering above him. "Maybe it's not about you, jackass," Angel snarled.  
  
"You, this is all you," Angelus questioned, unable to believe it.  
  
Faith smiled happily. "Hey, Angel. Great to see you but hate the hair," she told him seriously, wrinkling her nose in disgust at his long, unkempt hair.  
  
Angel went to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Faith, why are you still here? You need to get out of here," he urged her.  
  
"Not until that psycho gets a soul shoved up his-" she began, but was swiftly silenced by a savage blow from Angelus that sent her smashing into the alley wall.  
  
"Rules changed, Faithy. And you're fading fast," he taunted her, gazing evilly at Angel. "Your soul's going up to the big puppy rescue in the sky."  
  
Growling angrily, Angel threw himself upon Angelus, reigning blow upon blow upon his face. Groaning loudly, Faith hauled herself up, watching in astonishment as she watched Angel and Angelus savagely fight. She realised what she was seeing: this was what it was always like for Angel. He had to constantly wrestle his inner demon to maintain equilibrium; it must be hell. Feeling renewed energy in her, she drew herself to full standing height, clearly enjoying the spectacle before her. Angel was kicking Angelus's ass.  
  
As Angelus fell to the ground, his eyes ground belligerently into Faith. "I thought you were dead," he spat viciously.  
  
"Uh-uh, baby. I'm not going anyway," she chided him smartly, as Angel smiled at her warmly. Then she felt something charge through the air, and gasped in wonder as Angel and Angelus merged into one. "But you are."  
  
"You're back, Angel," she cried, going to throw her arms around Angel. Then feeling slightly self-conscious, she moved back and clasped him arm firmly instead.  
  
"Yeah," he acknowledged, still in shock. "Buffy. Oh God, Buffy," he murmured, Angelus's memories of the vision filling his mind.  
  
Faith offered him her hand, her eyes suddenly subdued. "So you know," she said simply. "Time to go."  
  
As Angel took her hand, Faith saw a blinding flash of light. When she opened her eyes, she saw a green-skinned demon gazing at her tenderly, his hand cupping hers. "Welcome back, sweetie," Lorne told her.  
  
***************************  
  
Rona sat grumpily upon her sleeping bag, her arms hugged around her legs. She had been stuck here for months, isolated from her family and friends; that is, if she had any left. A shiver went through her as she thought of the Bringers, and their sharp knives and their eyeless faces. More times than she could count in her time here she had come face to face with them, not to mention those freaky ubervamps. Yet somehow she was still alive.  
  
Rona looked over to Amanda and Viv, who were contenting themselves with the wonders of hair braiding. Irritated, Rona threw a cushion at them, causing them to gape at her in surprise. "Rona!" screeched Amanda, slinging a cushion back. "You made me lose my place."  
  
"Yeah, what's your problem, Rona?" added Viv, untying her messed up plait. Just then Buffy walked past, her mind elsewhere. She did not acknowledge the girls in the living room. "Oh," said Viv, catching the annoyed look on Rona's face.  
  
"She's just been down in the basement with Spike. She's always there," bitched Rona, her smoldering eyes daring the others to contradict her. "It's like we don't even exist and we're the ones she's supposed to be protecting." Pausing dramatically, she eyed the others. "Well?"  
  
Looking distinctively uncomfortable, Amanda looked down at her sleeping bag. Buffy was Dawn's big sister and since Dawn had helped to save her and all, Amanda really liked Dawn. It felt really wrong to say things about Buffy behind her back. Still Rona did have a point: Buffy had been sort of distant with them. "Yeah, I guess," she finally said, still refusing to make eye contact with Rona.  
  
"You guess? How about this? I don't think Buffy even knows any of our names. That's not exactly what you think you'd get from someone wanting to save our lives. All she cares about is Spike," ranted Rona, as Viv tried to look enthusiastic in the appropriate places. Rona was a bit of a fierce one and Viv did not fancy getting on the wrong side of her.  
  
"You're wrong," said a male voice very definitely. The three girls looked up, startled to see Xander standing at the doorway.  
  
"We didn't mean-" covered Amanda quickly.  
  
Xander waved her comment away and continued, "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you know that Buffy cares about each and every one of you." Rona gave him a dismissive look. "Yeah, even you Rona. She's doing her best to get everyone through this. That's why she's so tough on us all."  
  
He gave the girls a second to take in his words, happy that each, even Rona, was listening attentively. "I've seen this girl tackle things you couldn't imagine. She's saved my life and the world more times than I can count," he told them, feeling his own eyes begin to tear up as he thought of Buffy's death following her battle with Glory. "She's amazing. I never want you to doubt her again."  
  
Unbeknownst to him, Buffy had heard each and every word. Xander yet again had become her secret strength, his faith in her solid. She doubted he could ever see how much she loved him and Willow, how much she relied on them both in such little ways. They never spoke about their bond much, there had always been too much going on, but now she realised she had been wrong to ever doubt her friends' support. It did not matter what she would face, the simple fact of their friendship would remain.  
  
Turning to go upstairs, Buffy froze. She felt her skin become goose- fleshed, her very insides twisting. It could not be her mother. Her mother was dead. And yet here her mother was, stood on the stairs. "Mommy?" she finally said, her voice unsteady.  
  
"Honey, you're shaking," her mother observed, a worried edge in her voice. Then she smiled strangely at her daughter. "Could it be you don't really believe your little friend in there?"  
  
Then Buffy knew. It wasn't her mother at all. "Get out," she ordered coldly, her voice low.  
  
"Why, is that any way to speak to your dead mother?" the First taunted, her face twisting derisively.  
  
"You're not my mother," Buffy replied, her mouth pressed into a hardened slit.  
  
"Maybe not, but you're still shaken," the First observed mock casually, folding her arms. "Must be all those nasty, nasty dreams you've been having lately."  
  
Giving her a cutting look, Buffy tersely answered, "Don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Coming menacingly close, the First sneered, "Oh, I think you do. But not to worry. Soon your lover's dust will be flying and then this will all be over." Seeing Buffy's eyes widen in fear, the First merely grinned and gave a small wave. "Be seeing you." Then she disappeared in a flash of blue light, leaving Buffy visibly distressed.  
  
Running up the stairs and into her room, Buffy slammed the door behind her. It was just a ploy, another tactic to mess her mind up, she told herself fiercely. Her hand again went to the cross. She would get through this. She would beat the First. There really was no other choice.  
  
*******************  
  
Willow picked up her bag and prepared to make her goodbyes. Angel was now fully soul intact; her work here was done. It was time to go back to Sunnydale, time to finish what they had all started there. Angel was smiling at Willow thankfully, still a little unsure of what to say. Hugging him firmly, Willow spoke for him. "No need to say anything. I got a slayer out the deal, so we're even stevens," she reassured him. Then pulling back and eyeing him carefully, she added, "I'll tell Buffy you said hi."  
  
Angel's face seemed to pale even more if that was possible, as he thought of the vision he had shared with Faith. "Good. Thanks," he mumbled distractedly.  
  
Unsure of what to make of Angel's peculiar behaviour, Willow turned to Wesley, Gunn and Fred. The temptation in her to confess to Angel the nature of Buffy's prophetic dreams was weighing heavily upon Willow's mind, but thinking of Buffy's desperation to keep her first love from harm stopped her. It would literally destroy Buffy to see Angel die. That was not something Willow could ever inflict upon her. Instead she threw herself into enthusiastic goodbyes and promises to visit soon, not sure if she would live long enough for that to even be a possibility.  
  
"Wagons roll west. See you guys," Will said, beginning to move away, but stopped as Faith looked pointedly at Angel. "Okay. I'll be in the car," she told Faith.  
  
Angel looked curiously at Faith, not sure what was going on but when he saw the usual wry humour gone from her eyes, he knew this was not a farewell at all. "You coming?" she asked him, the flash of emotions on her face emphasising that saying no was not an option.  
  
Not answering, Angel stared at her, still reeling from the discovery of his involvement in Buffy's all-too-immediate future. The choice was already made.  
  
To Be Continued. 


End file.
